It's been a while since I came back to that day in my thoughts. The 18th of July, 2018. Wednesday? I'm most certain it was Wednesday. And looking up at my calendar - yes it was! Things like this are hard to forget. You are going a long way to make yourself forget the days like those ones - antidepressants, therapy, then alcohol and drugs, and then more antidepressants and therapy. And then it just doesn't help any more! None of the above.
And one warm September morning you just can't get out of bed any more. You are stuck in some sticky dreams, and though they are unpleasant, they still feel better than the reality that awaits you out there. So you cancel your plans, call in sick and just stay in bed, not able to sleep any longer, but not knowing what you can do to escape this cold that is paralyzing your body and thoughts. Inexplicable fear.
I get out of bed, I cook myself breakfast (gosh, you should have seen those sandwiches with grilled veggies!) and I eat it all up without even feeling the tastes. And I realize that I cannot go on like this. I need to figure it out. Why am I such a fucking wreck of myself lately?
So I sit down at my computer and just stare at the monitor. Where should I start? I start reading the news. The news pieces are annoying - Russian government is a bunch of dicks, Trump is a dick, Lukashenko is a dick, etc etc. Highly irritating content. And the last few months I was perceiving politics as the main reason for my unstable mental state (to put things gently). And today I realized that, even though, doubtlessly, current news flow doesn't make me a happier person, I am not depressed because of that. There is something else.
And I started recounting the events of the last few months to see where it all started. In the Spring 2020, even regardless of the overwhelming influence of the COVID-19 pandemic on the whole humanity, I still felt alright - I could discipline myself and work, I had enough energy to work on a number of projects. And then - bam! It all came to a halt. When did it happen? In the middle of May, as it seems to me now.
In the beginning of May 2020 I decided to try and help a refugee from Russia, who was in a very bad situation and was awaiting deportation. The problem is that I started digging into his case and, not even realizing it, I've entered the psychological zone where I felt equally unsafe, just like the person I was trying to help. What started as an altruistic act ended up being a pure torture for me. But I couldn't identify the breach in my security system. My memory, already integrated into my PTSD-fueled personality, knowing how to deal with such stuff, just hid my own experience of deportation from me.
I dropped the case and just stopped answering the phone and didn't react to any messages from the person. But I also didn't admit to myself that it triggered the new wave of depression. And I continued living, as if nothing happened. But nothing was the same. The fears and anxieties started haunting me again. I doubled the dose of antidepressants, but everything was looking really grim to me.
And today I thought to myself: it was Wednesday.
You remember every single detail if you are brave enough to open up this chapter again.
The more I go through the remembrance of that day, the more I suffer, but also the freer I breathe. I woke up at around 6AM in a weird state of panic. I felt like I'm not going to be able to fall back asleep...